


Jedi Master Amidala

by jamwrites



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Honestly they're all disasters, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Padme AU, Jedi!padmé, Lightsaber Battles, or ever, this is the first non-gay thing I've written in so long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24131080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamwrites/pseuds/jamwrites
Summary: An AU in which Padmé is a Jedi Master, Ahsoka is her Padawan, and Anakin...Anakin's in the Senate, which is probably not good for anybody.
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 52
Kudos: 678





	Jedi Master Amidala

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Мастер-джедай Амидала](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28981704) by [Smoking_breath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smoking_breath/pseuds/Smoking_breath)



> Thank you to [angelsaxis](https://angelsaxis.tumblr.com/) for letting me jump on your glorious AU idea, and to [stairset](https://stairset.tumblr.com/) and [stealingpotatoes](https://stealingpotatoes.tumblr.com/) because I lifted some ideas/dialogue from your additions in the reblogs. 
> 
> I did my best, including going back and forth FOREVER on whether Anakin was King of Naboo or a Senator from Tatooine...I ultimately thought it would keep more in his character to save as much of his backstory as possible. This AU seems like it's making a lot of people happy over on tumblr, so I thought I'd pitch in.

_ Desperate measures! _

_ After the daring INVASION OF KAMINO, during which GENERAL GRIEVOUS, and his DROID ARMY nearly secured the genetic code base of all clone troopers, a shaken REPUBLIC calls an emergency meeting of the GALACTIC SENATE. Previously considered impenetrable, the Republic’s confidence in the formerly-hidden cloning headquarters is swiftly waning.  _

_ Newly elected senator ANAKIN SKYWALKER has raced across the galaxy to represent his constituents on Tatooine at this crucial vote, and tensions rise as the fate of the entire GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC is decided... _

  
  


_**Anakin** _

Anakin’s robes were chaffing in all the wrong places.

He had to resist the urge to tug at them; after all, the eyes of the entire Galactic Senate were on him for the first time, and he should probably make a suitably dashing first impression. 

But it wasn’t his fault his mind was wandering--when he had been elected Senator for Tatooine, Anakin had been expecting risky back-door deals, weeding out corruption, and maybe an alley chase or two. And while it was apparent that there was plenty of corruption in the Senate, it tended to manifest itself in painfully long, droning speeches rather than blaster shootouts. Today, it seemed, was no exception. 

“What you are all forgetting is that the clone template is property of Kamino,” Senator Burtoni was saying. Her hoverpod had taken center stage, and Anakin lapsed into partial daydream long ago as she spent the last quarter hour working herself up into a lather. “Master Shaak Ti has made it quite apparent that the clone army was bought and paid for by the Republic, but the terms of your contract do not include the template itself. Fett’s DNA is entwined in an entirely separate transaction than yours--I’m afraid that what your Jedi Council purchased all those years ago was already stock of our cloning uncatalogued, and will not be removed from Kamino. It simply cannot be done.”

Enough. Anakin had heard enough of this. He had to intervene; it was that, or throw himself over the edge of his balcony. He pressed a button on the dash and let the hoverpad carry him into the boxing ring with Burtoni. 

“‘Cannot’ is a strong word, Senator. I think General Grievous proved that, actually, it _can_ be done. And it was.” He gazed out at the sea of delegates around him, and at the Chancellor, calmly watching from the center podium. “In fact, it was only by the actions of Jedi Knight Amidala that we still have the template at all.”

Another hoverpad joined his, floating in dual opposite to Burtoni’s. “Senator Skywalker is correct,” Senator Mothma said, and leveled a warm smile in his direction. “Kamino’s greatest weapon was its secrecy. Now that its location is known to all the galaxy, it is no longer safe. Nor can the Jedi Council spare the extra knights to protect it; gods know they are spread thin enough on the fronts as it stands.” Anakin made a mental note to buy Mothma a drink after this session ended, if it ever did. At this point it wasn’t looking likely.

“What, then, do you propose?” Chancellor Palpatine spread his arms wide, addressing the entire Senate. This was Anakin’s chance. Maybe he could still bring this session to a close before his entire head turned grey. 

“That we move the clone template,” he said. Murmurs swept through the thousands of glowing balconies. He smiled to himself. He had to admit that the drama of holding everyone’s attention did feel a  _ little  _ good. 

Burtoni’s hoverpad surged forward. “Move the template? Bah! And I suppose your backwater planet would be just the place to do it?” Her sarcastic laugh echoed hollowly around the chamber.

Anakin’s grin widened. 

“Why, that’s an excellent idea, Senator.”

“What? No, I--”

“Think about it. Tatooine lies in the further reaches of the galaxy. Even the Clone Wars haven’t touched it. Our forces won’t be there to protect it, but neither will the Separatists'.” More murmurs. “Let’s say we bring the template back to Coruscant, where we can guard it with the Navy. That’s all fine and good, until it brings the entire Droid Army down on us when they come looking for it.”

“But Tatooine is in the middle of nowhere!” 

“Exactly. It’s the last place Grievous would think for us to hide the template. And since the front is nowhere near Tatooine, there’s not even a chance of the Separatists discovering it by accident. It’s the perfect hiding spot. And if, somehow, Dooku _does_ manage to get his old claws on the template’s location, the ensuing battle won’t destroy the cloning facilities, or our capital...and Senate.” Oh, Anakin had them now; he could tell by looking at all of their faces. Maybe he was more suited to this Senator gig than he had thought.

“Preposterous! Absurd!” All of Anakin’s good cheer drained away at the sight of Lott Dod’s pruned-up face jutting into his speech. “Removing the template from Kamino violates every agreement signed by this Republic under supervision of the Trade Federation!”

Mothma’s smile flashed at Dod, decidedly drained of its warmth. “Actually, Senator Dod, may I remind you that it was a member of the Jedi Council who signed that contract. The Republic has simply footed the bill.”

Maybe Anakin owed her more than one drink. “If Kamino and the Trade Federation is unhappy with the contract, it might be possible to re-negotiate for a lower interest rate,” he said, voice innocent and light. 

It took several minutes for Orn Free Taa to tamp down the ensuing chaos, a storm of chatter and shouting that Anakin couldn’t help but take tremendous pleasure in. It had obviously been some time since all of these dusty old senators had had somebody truly challenge them. If he was lucky, he might even find a few good sparring partners for future sessions. Burtoni, irritable as she was, seemed at least to have some fire left in her. 

When the hubbub finally died down, Chancellor Palaptine stood and put his hands on his balcony. “Several courses of action have been laid before us. We can talk in circles all day, but it seems to me that the time to vote has come.” The old man’s gaze turned up toward Anakin. “I thank the Senator from Tatooine for his... _bold_ vision, but also urge the Senate to consider the wise words of the Trade Federation, as well as our prior commitments to the Banking Clan.”

Anakin felt the smirk slipping off his face. What? What was the old man doing? Now was the worst time for the Senate to be reminded of those parasites. What they needed was  _ action _ . Surely they could understand that. Anakin glanced over at Senator Mothma, who glanced up at him from her blinking console, face drawn. 

“Please, everyone, cast your votes now.”

**

“Those spineless, gutless, Sarlacc-sucking  _ cowards _ !” Anakin looked around for something to kick, but the corridor was full of only other Senators and their service droids, and he didn’t much feel like being escorted off the premises. Yet. “They’re going to get us all killed, or worse--lose us this war.”

Mon Mothma, walking beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder. “I understand your frustration, truly, I do.” She sighed. “However, the Senate’s decision doesn’t surprise me. A few more years here and you’ll gain much the same view, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, well, if Lott Dod and the rest of the Federation have their way, in a few years we’ll all be trading rations for death sticks in Dooku’s prison camp.” 

They rounded a corner, and there he was; Lott Dod, strolling along as if he had just won the prize hog at auction. Which, Anakin supposed, he had. A red, swirling heat filled his chest, and he bit the inside part of his lip that was already beginning to scar from such worryings. 

“Ah, Senator Skywalker!” The slime oozing out of Dod’s expression could have greased over a thirty-year old power coupling. “You spoke...loudly, in the session. It is too bad your inexperienced words failed to convince--”

Whatever the Senator was going to say next was cut off, on account of Anakin’s fist connecting with his stomach. When Dod tried to straighten up, gasping for air, he raised one crooked finger. “Ah,” he wheezed, “I see your past owners on your backwater planet taught you to fight like a womp rat as well as argue like one.”

“Say it again,” Anakin said, voice low.

“Excuse me?”

“Say it again. I couldn’t quite make it out over your lisp. You know, because of all the teeth you’re missing.”

“I’m not missing any--”

And then Anakin’s forehead was connecting with Dod’s mouth, and he watched with supreme satisfaction as Dod collapsed on the floor, out cold. Though the hall was filled with the alarmed twitterings of droids and fellow Senators, Anakin could barely hear it through the sandstorm of rage roaring in his ears. 

“Actually, I think I got it that time." Anakin spat as security droids grabbed his arms and shoved a tranquilizer deep into his neck.

**

The fog that swirled through Anakin’s mind was thick and cloying. He had to fight to swim to its surface, lungs desperate for air and consciousness. 

He half expected to wake up in a Republic cell, but when he finally managed to pry his eyelids apart, it was to the pleasant sight of sunlight streaming into the Chancellor’s office through its massive windows. 

“Ah, Skywalker my boy, you’re awake.” The Chancellor himself smiled at Anakin from behind his desk, and motioned at a wait staff droid beside him. “Please, have a drink and clear your head.” 

Anakin groaned and turned over--and nearly fell out of his seat. The Chancellor, it seemed, had propped him up in one of the plush cushions arranged in a semi-circle orbit around his luxuriously large desk.

“My dear boy, Master Amidala tells me that you punched the Trade Federation delegate in the face. Is this true?” 

Anakin shifted in his seat. Probably best just to be honest and get his punishment over with. “Absolutely not, your excellency. I punched the delegate in the stomach. Then I _headbutted_ him in the face.

“Well, either way, I must commend you. The scene you made with Senator Dod was even more convincing than Senator Mothma and I could have hoped for.” The Chancellor’s smile increased the already numerous wrinkles around his eyes. “Judging by your expression, however, I presume that she did not fill you in on all the details of her plan?”

“Oh, yeah. The...plan. That plan.” Speaking only increased the pounding in his head. What kind of tranq had they used on him? Rathtar anasthetsia? “No, the, uh...opportunity...with Lott Dod came along before Senator Mothma could tell me everything. What, exactly, is going on?”

“Drink, please. It really will help.”

Anakin accepted the glass of water from the droid and did as he was told. Surprisingly, his head did feel a smidgen better when his mouth was less full of cotton.

“I see no point in beating around the system. The short of it is, the vote passed the Senate.”

“What? Excuse me, Chancellor, but I was there. The Senate voted to keep the template with the Kaminoans. You declared the result yourself.”

“Ah, that I did, my boy. Loudly, and for all to hear.” The Chancellor paused, watching Anakin’s face with a bemused expression. If that was true, if the vote had passed, then…

He took another drink, then another. “You lied. To throw off any Separatist spies.”

“Very good. Though our votes are confidential, one never knows what wandering ears Dooku has employed.” The Chancellor leaned in conspiratorially. “I thought it best to cover our tracks.”

“Tracks? Am I going somewhere?”

From behind him, the sound of rustling robes. Somebody else had been in the room all along, and Anakin had apparently been too groggy to even notice. 

“Yes.  _ We  _ are,” said Master Amidala. 

It didn’t seem to matter how many times Anakin saw her; his heart always contracted in the same aching twist, his hands always tightened as if around a phantom version of her own. Here Padmé was, a vision in crimson robes, the setting sun of the office lighting up streaks of her rich hair like otherworldly fire. With Padmé's elegant lightsaber staff strapped to her even more elegant waist, Anakin was glad he was still working off the effects of the neutralizing drugs--at least he had an excuse for his jaw to be hanging open. 

“Well,” Padmé said, taking stock of the room with a stately gaze that only snagged momentarily on his eyes. “The cruiser is prepared. What are we waiting for?”

**

** _Padmé_ **

There was much to be done in the time Anakin had spent knocked unconscious. In fact, Padmé and her Padawan had been hard at work several rotations before the Senate meeting, securing the necessary logistical details needed to be ready to obtain the clone template from Kamino and have it back to Coruscant the moment the vote was passed. 

Convincing the Kaminoans hadn’t exactly been simple. Padmé was at least thankful, then, that they hadn’t encountered trouble on the way back. 

The trip to Tatooine...well, that, she was somewhat less confident about. Not that she would ever admit as much to her Padawan.

“We’re escorting a Senator? Why is he even coming?” Ahsoka practically had to jog to keep up with Padmé's long strides as she hurried through the twisting Senate halls toward the Chancellor’s office. Even now she clutched the template, hidden under between heavy folds of her robes, and half her attention was focused on worrying about the fate of the Grand Army she held between thumb and forefinger while the other half was placating the barrage of questions she had long grown used to.

“Because,” Padmé said, keeping her voice even, “the template is to be taken to his homeworld and hidden away. Ana...Senator Skywalker is the only official from the Tatooine system we have; he’ll know better than any of us where to keep it safe.”

The next question was already halfway out of Ahsoka’s mouth before Padmé was even finished answering the first two. “But isn’t he just going to slow us down? We got lucky getting to Coruscant in one piece. But Dooku's probably going to have a droid fleet or superweapon waiting for us the second we step foot out of the Inner Core. If we have to babysit a Senator--”

“Senator Skywalker can take care of himself, I’m sure.” They had reached the antechamber to the Chancellor’s office. Padmé took a moment to smooth down her robes, then shot her Padawan a stern look. “And in any case, the Chancellor has put in place a special measure to make sure the Separatists have no inkling of our strategy.”

But Ahsoka just rolled her eyes heavenward. “Like that’s ever stopped the Seppies before. The last time you told me we shouldn’t have any trouble, Ventress nearly took my head off.”

“And yet here you stand, the picture of an obedient and  _ quiet  _ Padawan,” Padmé shot back, eyebrow raised along with the barest corner of her lip. "This mission will get along smoothly if you just do as you're told."

Then the office doors were sliding open, and the Chancellor was welcoming them in with the unconscious or concussed form of Anakin, a state Padmé wished she was less accustomed to seeing him in. 

Ahsoka stood with her arms folded, taking in the scene.

“Oh, yeah,” she said dryly. “This is gonna go great.”

**

Their cruiser was on fire.

Not the entire thing, thankfully, but enough that they were beginning to develop a rather pronounced starboard list as they trailed smoke through space. 

“This is all part of the plan, I presume?” Anakin lurched forward as the ship shuddered from another volley of Seperatist blasts, but Padmé held herself upright, staring grimly at the warroom holo she, Anakin, Ahsoka, and Rex had clustered around.

Everything had been going fine until they had had to drop out of hyperspace; the trip to Tatooine required several course adjustments to avoid unfortunately placed nebulae, and they had also been trying to throw any unwanted guests off their trail. That strategy had apparently been for nought. Rex had summoned them minutes ago to give the details of the Separatist fleet that had intercepted them, waiting at the drop out point for them to appear. 

Padmé was almost glad there was so much running and chaos; it kept her from having to listen to too much of Ahsoka’s smug commentary, which the presence of Anakin only seemed to be amplifying.

Ahsoka tilted her head towards Padmé. “With Master and I, there’s usually a plan, and it usually goes to skrag. So you could say that this was expected.”

Padmé didn’t miss the spark of devious joy that flashed across her husband’s face. Though he had only just met Ahsoka, she could tell that the two were going to be fast friends. They certainly already shared the quality of producing explosions wherever they went. 

Rex made a few adjustments to the holo. “There’s a squadron of boarding ships inbound. More than we can take out with our cannons before they reach us.”

“They’re coming for the template.” Padmé stroked her chin, a habit she had picked up from her own Master. If they were coming for the template, then there was no telling how much of their plan was compromised. There wasn’t any time to worry about who could have leaked the intel; she could only hope the droids didn’t know where they were taking the code. But the chance did exist the droids knew she had Anakin onboard--and that made him vulnerable. 

“Scatter the fighters. Take out as many of those boarding craft as possible,” Padmé unclipped her lightsaber staff from her hip. “I’ll go to the primary projected landing site and hold them off. Rex, take a squad and protect the hyperdrive. Ahsoka--”

“--defend the Senator and prepare to escape if needed?” Ahsoka finished, arms folded again. 

“With an additional squad, yes.”

“Woah woah, hold on there.” Anakin stumbled again, this time grabbing onto Padmé's shoulder for support. “Who said anything about running? I know how to shoot. And you definitely don’t need to waste an entire squad of clones on me.”

“Captain, get going.” Rex nodded, turned, and sprinted out the door. Padmé sighed and turned to Anakin. “Senator, I know you want to help, but this really isn’t your area of expertise. We can’t afford to lose you.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not going anywhere.”

Padmé swore she was going to have nubs for teeth at the rate Anakin made her grind them down. She also didn’t have time to argue, especially in front of her Padawan. 

“Fine. Both of you come with me. But Ahsoka, the moment you think the Senator is in danger, take him and go. If he protests...well, I’m sure you’re stronger than he is.”

“Hey!”

Ahsoka grinned. “Duly noted, Master.”

Another explosion rocked the ship, which Padmé took as their cue to run. They sprinted down long halls lit by panicked red emergency lights. The droids were projected to land in the aft of the cruiser; by the time Padmé and company arrived in the correct corridor, they found several dozen clones waiting in position, fanned out in battle formation with weapons primed.

“Good to see you, General,” one of the clones nodded at her. “We’re ready.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Everybody hold this line and defend the hyperdrive at all costs; there's no backup for us this deep in the Outer Rim.” Padmé held her chin up high and raised her voice, addressing each clone within earshot. “We’re all each other has. May the Force be with you.”

Then she turned her attention to the ceiling, and waited. 

“Steady, everyone,” she said, as the sound of twisting metal and muffled blasterfire echoed up and down the corridor. Ahsoka stood behind her, and behind her was Anakin, partially hidden behind a shield door with his handblaster drawn. “Steady.”

And then, all at once:

The ceiling exploded with the puncturing tips of droid boarding craft, which split apart and widened their breach the moment they made contact. Several long shelves of super battle droids extended and dropped their cargo that activated upon impact, straightening up and facing the clones down with emotionless drive.

Padmé ignited the green blades of her staff.

“ _ Fire _ _!_ ” she screamed, and charged.

The familiar haze of battle washed over her like an ocean tide. There had been a time when Padmé had never before fought in war, nor led soldiers to their deaths. Rather, she’d spent her days training under Obi-Wan in sunlit plazas and meditating with Master Yoda and other younglings on afternoons when he would sneak his charges into the Council’s chamber, giggling impishly to himself at his own deviousness. 

Those days were long gone. 

Now Padmé registered will dull horror how little she was fazed by the adrenaline of whirling her saberstaff like a hurricane of plasma to fell entire rows of droids, how easy it was to deflect blaster bolts, how only seeing one or two men mowed down around her seemed a victory, as opposed to ten, twenty, or an entire squadron. She ducked and twisted and sliced with ease. She was the shield between her clones and the onslaught of droids, stiff arms pointing accusingly at their prey. 

“Master!” Ahsoka shouted from behind her, and when Padmé spared a moment to look, she found droids advancing on their rear, her Padawan already defending with both of her sabers. 

This wasn’t good; the Separatists had brought a higher number of droids than usual. Padmé could deal with them, but Anakin’s presence made things difficult. 

“Anakin! Retreat to the bridge!” 

She blocked one, two shots to her head from an oncoming droid, sliced it in half, and then shoved it with the Force into a whole group of its brethren. From behind it rose another. 

The glowing red eye of the Super Battle Droid shattered, sending the hunk of metal clattering to the ground. 

“What, just when things are getting interesting?” Anakin said, appearing at her side. “I think my aim is improving.”

“This isn’t a game, Anakin. They’re here for you.”

But he just smirked at her. Why did he have to be so attractive? It made it supremely difficult for Padmé to stay mad at him. “Then it's a good thing I have you to protect me. I told you babe, I’m not going anywhere.” 

Another explosion rocked the ship, nearly sending both of them careening off their feet. When they recovered, Padmé was somehow unsurprised to find the corridor even more filled with droids than it had been before. 

“Rex,” she said into her wrist comlink. “Carry out Plan Theta. Now.”

_ “You got it, General.” _

“Plan Theta? You’re no fun at all.”

“Excuse me for saving the--” Padmé grunted and shoved back an incoming rocket with a bubble shield of Force, keeping the pinkish flames from washing over her and her clones. “--entire Republic.  _ Ahsoka! _ How are you doing?”

“I think the droids brought friends!”

Padmé finished cutting down a particularly difficult battle droid, then turned. Her Padawan was busy holding off the last of an advance guard of commando droids. And behind them shone the purple glow of-

“MagnaGuards,” Padmé whispered, a chill running down her back. Anakin was already sprinting off in Ahsoka’s direction to help out, firing wild potshots left and right. But if MagnaGuards were here, then that meant…”

“ _ Ahsoka!  _ Fall back, _ now! _ Take Anakin and retrea--”

Before she could finish, yet another boarding craft burst into the metal overhead, the violence of its arrival forcing Padmé off balance, her saberstaff sailing away into the smoke and fumes. A clone knelt to help her up. 

When she made it to her feet, she was surrounded by commandos. 

“Lower your weapons, and I promise to take you as prisoners of the Republic,” Padmé said. Slowly slowly, she spread her hands, searching in the Force for her target. 

Down the hall, Ahsoka dueled with two MagnaGuards, holding her own for the moment. Padmé had to get to her before that changed. 

She didn’t have much time before the real threat arrived. 

The commando leader, painted in yellow stripes, chittered away in a warped droid speech and hefted its rifle. Padmé sighed. So much for the peaceful negotiations her Master had taught her. 

“Droids,” she said. “Never ones for talking through your problems.”

She flexed her grip, and out of the chaos flew her lightsaber. Padmé caught it with one outstretched hand, the blades igniting upon impact with her palm. She wasted no time. Grunting, she brought the rear blade down on the commando leader’s head, sending both halves skittering across the floor towards its compatriots, who looked at the pieces, looked back at her, and opened fire. 

Commandos were a little trickier than the average battle droid, but nothing Padmé couldn’t handle with some elbow grease. It wasn’t even the commandos that troubled her--as she spun and deflected bolts into their owners, she kept an eye on Ahsoka’s skirmish with the guards. Her apprentice had managed to cut one down and was working on the second. But even as Padmé watched, two more MagnaGuards stepped out of the black smoke, staffs blocking Anakin’s shots. And behind them, smoking churning with the clanking of heavy metal claws and billowing cape…

“ _ No! _ ” Too slow, no matter how many droids she dismantled, she was too slow. What happened next happened as if underwater: General Grievous himself appearing like the specter of Death, all four sabers lit, bearing down on Ahsoka. MagnaGuards, slipping through Ahsoka’s defenses and stunning Anakin unconscious, his body dropping into their arms. Their attention then turned to their next quarry. Their electrostaffs hit her between the shoulderblades and Ahsoka seized up, cried out, then fell. 

Grievous, laughing his horrible wet, hacking laugh. 

Padmé's saber emerged from the back of the last commando. Then she was running toward Grievous.  _ Too slow. Too slow. _ He scooped up Ahsoka’s body and turned, disappearing back into the smoke, back into his ship, with the Magnaguards and Anakin close behind. Padmé sprinted, knowing what was coming next but sprinting anyway. 

Grievous' ship detached. With it, the empty void of space rushed in, hungry and eager for the bodies of her clones. Padmé grabbed onto a wall support, resisting the tug of the cold stars, and swiped her hand through the Force. 

The failsafe hatches slid shut with a deep and thudding  _ boom _ . Scrapped droids clanged as they dropped. The ship fell silent. 

And Padmé was alone.

  
**

_**Ahsoka** _

It was beginning to get difficult to keep track of the number of times Ahsoka had recovered from unconsciousness over the last few years. A rough guestimate put her at a dozen, give or take, and some part of her registered that that couldn’t be good for her brain. 

But when one’s captor was General Grievous...well, sometimes there just wasn’t much choice. 

When Ahsoka manged to pry her eyelids apart, she found herself floating in an energy restrainer, in what appeared to be a cramped Separatist interrogation room, judging from the droids operating torture panels in front of her. The little motion allowed to her neck let her discover Senator Skywalker knocked out cold beside her. She couldn’t blame him; it took a little while to get used to an electrostaff stun. First time was never easy.

From somewhere she couldn’t see, a door slid open. 

“So you’ve decided to join us.” The awful, pained voice of Grievous washed over her, and despite the suffocatingly hot atmosphere of the room, Ahsoka shivered. It was one thing to duel Grievous. It was another to be helpless before him. “I trust you slept well, little one.”

“You might want to get that cough checked out,” Ahsoka said. “It sounds worse than last time.”

“Bold words, for one so…” Grievous stepped forward and brushed her chin with a metal hand. “Helpless.”

“Then let me go. Make it a fair fight this time.”

From beside her: groaning. 

“Ah, Senator Skywalker.”

“Is this what passes for a torture room these days? Let me tell you, Grievous, you have nothing on the Hutts. Boy, when you wake up in the basement of Jabba’s Palace, that’s when you really know you’re f--”

“Quiet!” Grievous reached over a droid’s shoulder and twisted a dial, sending a spike of electricity arcing up Skywalker’s plasma restraints. His spine stiffened as the pain wracked him. Ahsoka bared her teeth. 

“You’ve gone too far, Grievous. It’s one thing to torture a Jedi. But a Senator of the Galactic Republic? You’re committing war crimes the Senate won’t soon forget.”

“Senate? I don’t see a Senate out here. I see only you, and your pain.”

Then it was her turn to experience the waves of agony. Ahsoka could practically smell the ends of her nerves frying, and it took everything she had not to cry out.

“The Senator here is going to tell me where he’s hiding the clone template.” Grievous folded his hands behind her back and stalked up close to Ahsoka, peering up at her with discolored, yellowed irises. “And if he does not, it is your life on the line, Jedi. If I were you, I’d start begging him to talk.”

“You’ve made a mistake, you rusty tin can,” Ahsoka said.

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“You forgot to capture my Master. She doesn’t like it very much when her friends are tortured. And if you think you’re safe here, you’re wrong.” Grievous was laughing again, but Ahsoka didn’t care. She felt Senator Skywalker’s approving eyes on hers. Urging her to hold her ground. “If you think she’ll give up, she won’t. If you think your clanker army will protect you, they can’t. And if you think for one singular moment that Master Amidala will hesitate before turning you into a pile of scrap metal, you are horribly wrong.”

Grievous’ laughter was deafening now. The phlemgy, disease-ridden wreckage of his vocal cords filled the room, and his caressing touch became a vice around Ahsoka’s throat. 

“A touching sentiment. I would tell her myself, but I’m sure my droids have already killed her and every clone aboard your cruiser.”

A noise. From behind the sealed door to their torture chamber. 

It nearly sounded like…

Blasterfire.

A different laughter began. A lower, smoother, laughter. When Ahsoka looked, she was surprised to find it coming from the Senator. 

“If I were you, I’d start running,” Skywalker said. There was something darker in his face Ahsoka hadn’t noticed before. “Padmé isn’t going to like what she sees.”

Grievous whirled around and began to stalk slowly, slowly toward the entrance. The sound was most definitely blasterfire; Ahsoka was sure now. She could also make out the nasal yell of battle droids alternatively calling for someone to be blasted or begging for their lives, followed by the familiar sounds of slicing and dicing.

“Impossible,” growled Grievous. “My entire fleet stands between us and the remnants of your forces.”

Anakin’s eyes glittered. “You only brought one fleet?”

The glowing green tip of a lightsaber erupted from the chamber’s doors and began to cut in a steady semi-circle of molten metal. It took only a few moments before the circle was complete. Grievous leaned in toward it, two arms separating with sickening clicks into four. 

The circle of metal exploded inward. 

Grievous was almost, almost fast enough, but the wreckage of the door caught him on the shoulder and squashed him against the wall in a crumpled heap of metal and smoking cloak. Ahsoka coughed and blinked through the dust; when it cleared, there stood her Master like an angel of war, crimson robes signed and torn, hair falling out of its usually tidy bun, her saberstaff humming eagerly in her hands. 

“Anakin! Ahsoka!” She rushed into the room and slashed at the control panel, freeing them from the ray restrainers, though their hands were still bound by glowing shackles. “Did he hurt you?”

“Nothing beyond your typical Separatist welcome.” Ahsoka rolled her shoulders and stuck out her hands. Master Amidala tried to cut the shackle, but the ray bonding between them repelled her lightsaber. They both frowned.

“I don’t know where my lightsabers are, but at least we’re okay,” she added at her Master’s stormy expression. “I’m sure we’ll figure out a way to get these things off. Eventually.”

“Then I suggest you start working on it. Quickly.” The three of them turned, to where the renewed hacking and wheezing signaled the rise of the General. He shoved what remained of the door away and drew himself to his full height. Even though she was probably about to die by his hand, Ahsoka couldn't help but note that every time she saw Grievous, she was reminded of how curiously short he was. 

Padmé stepped in front of them. “Go,” she hissed. “I’ll hold him off. Take Skywalker and--”

“I’m not leaving you, Padmé.” 

Grievous' four arms drew four lightsabers, which he ignited one by one. 

“Ani, I’m not asking.”

“Just because you have a lightsaber doesn’t mean you get to order me around.”

“Oh, really? I guess it just means I get to save your life. Again.”

“That’s only two times today. I’ve done better than that before.”

“Do you want to be the one to fight the four-armed Separatist murder droid? No? I didn’t think so."

Ahsoka glanced back and forth between the two. Though she wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, she _was_ sure that they were all about to be killed by a homicidal cyborg.

“Master,” she interjected. “Grievous?”

Padmé nodded. "Ahsoka, hold Anakin back.”

Ahsoka caught Skywalker just as he was surging forward to meet Grievous, looping her cuffed hands over his head and chest and drawing him tight against her.  She also hadn’t spoken up a moment too soon. Padmé caught Grievous’ overhead strike on her saber, twisted, and sent him stumbling back with the Force. Ahsoka had seen Padme duel enough times to know her Master was at an advantage when she could keep enemies at a distance; her saberstaff allowed her to reach far beyond the range of a standard lightsaber. Grievous, however, was a slightly different matter. His arms were longer than that of a humanoid, and able to articulate in ways others couldn’t. Ahsoka should know. He’d already tried to kill her once or twice since the war began. 

“Hey, Grievous!” Skywalker struggled against Ahsoka’s headlock as she backed them both out of the range of danger.  Grievous and Padmé's sabers flashed, cutting angry streaks in the cramped room as Ahsoka retreated into the hall. And still, still, Skywalker wasn’t finished. “You’re looking a bit thin. Are you sure Dooku’s giving you enough to eat? If this unsettlingly strong teenage girl wasn’t holding me back, you’d be scrapped by now.”

Padmé bent backwards under the weight of all four of Grievous’ sabers, then lashed out with her boot and caught one of his legs. It bent at a sickening angle and the General let rip with an inhuman noise somewhere between a snarl and a scream. She glanced backwards, the familiar stormy expression having returned in full force. “Anakin, you’re. Not. Helping.”

“Not to worry, Master Jedi. I have a plan. Sort of.”

Grievous’ leg jerked itself back into place with a _crunch_ , and then he was back to hammering away at Padmé, forcing her out into the corridor Ahsoka had backed into only moments before. 

Ahsoka knew she should be getting Anakin as far from here as possible. But she couldn't’ bring herself to leave her Master to the same fate as so many other Jedi. And besides, she could sense Senator Skywalker’s bravado and, beneath that, a steady assurance that got her thinking he possibly did have a way to get them out. 

Emphasis on the  _ possibly _ .

“Is this a joke to you?” Padmé was a flurry of red robes and green light, bobbing and weaving and slashing faster than Ahsoka could keep track of, fending off four blades with just her two. The cramped conditions of the corridors put her at an even further disadvantage, and yet--she was holding her ground. Gaining some, even.

Ahsoka didn’t have her sabers, so she couldn’t be of much help to her Master there. If she could just figure out what Skywalker was up to…

“Of course not! I’m simply pointing out that the General looks a bit peaky today.”

“We are at  _ war _ , Anakin! I’m trying to keep you from getting killed! Why can’t you see that?” Padmé landed a blow with her hilt on Grievous’ face, momentarily stunning him. She turned and shot Skywalker a pained expression. “Why can’t you take anything seriously?”

Anakin’s jaw clenched. “I do. More than you know, Padmé, I do. But if you try to carry the weight of this war by yourself, it’s going to crush you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

The two of them stared at each other, holding some unspoken thing between them that Ahsoka guessed she wasn’t privy to. 

“Master, look out!” 

Ahsoka barely caught Grievous’ saber in time, holding his trembling arm in place with the Force, then threw it aside. It was a weak move, but it bought Padmé the second she needed to save herself from being bisected. 

“Attacking when my guard is down?” Padmé leveled the dangerous look on her face at Grievous as she batted away his haphazard swings. “You’re getting sloppy, General. But I suppose you always have been.”

Anakin cupped his hands to his mouth. “There you go, Padmé! Do another!” His eyes darted to Ahsoka, then down between her ray shackles and his own, then to Grievous.

_ Oh _ . Ahsoka realized with a sinking feeling what the Senator’s plan was, and calling it a “plan” was stretching the definition.

“Quiet! Both of you!” Grievous must have been truly desperate, because he was back to his old spinning lightsaber trick. Ahsoka had seen it one too many times to be truly frightened, but the effect was still dazzling.

But Padmé didn’t appear to be fazed. “I know you just do whatever you’re told, Grievous, but being mindless dogs doesn’t come as naturally to the rest of us.”

“Ooh! Nice!” Skywalker whooped, then paled as Grievous bellowed and struck with viscous strength at Padmé. She blocked the blow easily enough, but it cost her her balance, and then Grievous was flowing past her down the hall to where Ahsoka and Skywalker stood, defenseless. 

Wonderful.

But Skywalker wasn’t finished yet. Ahsoka slipped her arms off the Senator, freeing him--freedom which he used to gesture at Grievous and smirk. “That’s right, General. You love following orders, don’t you? You’re just Dooku’s punk clanker bitch with a short leash and a big temper.”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Grievous was upon them now, and though Ahsoka thought she knew what Skywalker was going to do, some part of her was horrifyingly certain they were about to die brutal, brutal deaths. Still bellowing, Grievous raised his sabers, then slashed them down--

\--which she and Skywalker caught, hissing and spitting, on the ray shackles that bound their wrists. 

“Ahsoka! Now!” Skywalker shouted, and she nodded. Together, they twisted up the lightsabers in their shackles and yanked Grievous’ arms behind his back, popping his shoulders out of their sockets and prompting a further, animalistic scream of rage. 

For the second time that day, Ahsoka was glad to see the end of her master’s lightsaber pierce through metal. The General screamed again as Padmé yanked the saber back out of his chest, then dropped, hacking and coughing. 

“He won’t be down for long. Follow me!” Padmé turned to sprint down the hall, but Skywalker reached out and grabbed her wrist. 

“Wait. We’re in a Separatist cruiser at the head of an entire fleet. Don’t you want to give them something to remember us by?”

Ahsoka couldn’t believe her ears when her Master sighed, then nodded. “I do suppose it would be rude to leave without saying goodbye. But let’s be quick.”

Skywalker grinned, then knelt and tore the com link off of a moaning Grievous’ wrist. The action seemed to invigorate Grievous’ body, which jerked to life beneath its cape. Four legs sprouted with what sounded like bones breaking and, before any of them could react, it went scuttling away into the dank corridors, presumably slinking off to some escape pod. Ahsoka watched in horror as whatever was left of the General disappeared up a vent.

“Look, Master.” She scooped up two lightsabers Grievous had dropped in his agony and lit them up: both green. “I found some replacements.”

Padmé pointed at her. “Those do not belong to you. We’re returning them to the Temple and you’re taking a trip to Ilum as soon as the war permits, young one.” 

“Fine, fine.”

“Um, ladies? Not to be a spoilsport, but time’s a-wastin’.” Already halfway down the hall, Skywalker stood up from where he had been kneeling next to a control panel, and, a moment later, a light flashed green and both his and Ahsoka’s shackles popped off. Looking entirely too pleased with himself, Skywalker turned around and jogged backwards, signaling at them to get a move-on.

In the end, the Senator’s grand idea involved Padmé and Ahsoka scrapping the droid force in the flagship’s bridge, then using Grievous’s com link and access codes to override the strategy droids and order the fleet to rendezvous at a set of coordinates--which happened, as he explained, to be the center of this system’s sun. 

Skywalker winked at Padmé. “By the time any of them figure it out, half the fleet will be cooked well-done.”

As they raced back toward their own cruiser in a Separatist shuttle and watched the droids sail merrily off into the star, Ahsoka had to admit that the Senator had a certain flair for the dramatic, and for war strategy.

“Nah, war’s easy,” Skywalker said as he watched the fiery scene from the shuttle viewport with the expression of a proud parent. He stuttered when he glanced at Padmé's unimpressed eyebrow climbing her forehead. "Er, I mean, it's straightforward. Still takes lots of effort. Plenty of effort. And skill. But for me...it’s people that are interesting. That’s why the Senate is so much fun.”

What a strange, strange man indeed. “I guess we need somebody to do the jobs nobody else wants to,” Ahsoka said, and a frown flashed across Skywalker’s face. 

“Speaking of jobs nobody wants to do, did Rex ever complete Plan Theta?”

Did nobody tell her anything around here? “What’s that?” Ahsoka looked between the Senator and her Master. 

But Padmé, sitting on a bench and cleaning her lightsaber, just smiled knowingly. “It was a fail safe plan for Rex to go and deliver the clone template to its destination on Tatooine if we were waylaid. Which, may I state for the record, we are all very glad I had the foresight to put in place, yes? Now we can grab some hot rations and an early sleep for morning training.”

Skywalker grumbled and dragged his feet about it, but Ahsoka could tell he was really very pleased with her Master’s cunning. If she didn’t know better, she might have even said there was something...there, between those two. A spark of some sort. 

But, Ahsoka had to admit to herself, as they approached the welcome sight of their bruised Republic cruiser, such thoughts were just fantasy. Anything she thought she might have noticed between them was probably just leftover concussion from Grievous' interrogation. A wild, reckless man like Senator Skywalker? What equally dangerous and unpredictable person would ever want  _ that  _ in a partner? 

  
  


**

**_Padmé_ **

“You know, you did pretty okay out there today,” Anakin mumbled into Padmé's neck. They had finally found a moment of peace in his quarters, away from the hubbub of the clone squads repairing the cruiser and Ahsoka’s endless questions. 

Padmé pulled away. 

“‘Pretty okay’? Is that what you call me cutting my way through an entire army and rescuing you from Grievous himself? Maybe you need to find another valiant Jedi Knight to save your skin.” She gave him a look, which he returned with mock seriousness until they both broke, then bumped foreheads, giggling.

“I am sorry, though, for pressuring you. That wasn’t the time or place, and I was w--”

Padmé put her hand to Anakin’s mouth. “Ani,” she said through her smile, “you know I’d never, ever dream of stopping you from admitting you were wrong. Ever. B ut...maybe, just this time, you were a tiny bit right.” She sighed and looked heavenward for strength. “It’s possible that, once in a while, I do get too caught up in this terrible war. It stretches on and on with no end in sight, and its fog impedes my judgement. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that this fight is not my life.”

“And what is?” Anakin asked with a smug little smirk blooming across his face. For the thousandth time, Padmé was reminded of the aching beauty of the man she had married, and how she would have done it again in a second.

_All_ of it, that was: the Temple and the training, the peaceful Coruscant summer days and the vacations with Ani on Naboo. And yes, the war. The neverending, horrible, illuminating war that had taught her so much about the flaws of her own Order and about herself. Perhaps when it was over, Padmé could take the lessons she had gleamed from the carnage and apply them to the Jedi, perhaps even craft a new, better Order. One that embraced love instead of shunned it. One that encouraged compassion and warmth instead of violence and loyalty. 

And she would do it with Anakin at her side. Not that she would ever tell him that, of course--his ego would swell so fast he might strain something. 

Instead, she kissed him. “You,” she mumbled into his mouth. “Partially. And the Republic. Ahsoka’s a pretty big part too, as is Obi-Wan.”

“Ugh, Obi-Wan again.” Anakin rolled his eyes. “If I have to compete with him, Padmé, I’m telling you right now I can’t do it. That man is gorgeous.”

“Oh, is somebody jealous? Don’t worry, Ani. I think Obi-Wan has somebody waiting for him already.”

“What? That old stickler? You’re kidding.”

“Old stickler huh? I thought he was ‘gorgeous.’” Padmé giggled and leaned back against the viewport, turning her head to watch the stars wheel around their ship. She looped her arm around Anakin’s elegant waist she’d always admired and pulled him in close.

After all, there wasn’t much time before they were back at the cruiser, and there was much to be done.


End file.
